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fableweaver · 6 years ago

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Arc of the Lonely Astronomer

Arc of the Lonely Astronomer

Zaire was scrying over Myr. The city hadn’t seemed to change much over the time she had been gone. Winter had come, but the only sign in the mage city was a dusting of snow. She unfortunately could not look into many buildings; her power was not great enough to break through the sigils and wards of other mages’. She didn’t have the power to look anywhere else either; she could only look somewhere she was familiar with so she looked home. She had gathered however that Varas Lonelove had returned from Cair Leone, as well as the princess Ileana and her son Anton. The arrival of these mages had upset power in Myr a lot.

Zaire could only watch from outside, but she could tell by the brief glimpses of Ilya that he was not pleased by the return of these mages. One time Zaire saw Ilya and Varas arguing, but could not hear anything. The argument ended quickly and they parted, leaving Zaire wondering what could have happened. She wasn’t sure what Varas would make of Ilya’s partnership with the Legion or his experiments for immortality. Varas wouldn’t have argued over the humane aspects, Zaire knew enough about him from Xavier, but he could have issue with how Ilya was going about it.

It was now nearing the end of the year, Zaire gazing into her mirror and seeing no sign of any change in the political tension in Myr. Servants began decorating for Cael’s Day and the sight of those decorations made her think of Xavier. It was a festival for families, and after the death of her father Zaire had spent it alone with little more than a fine dinner and an extra glass of wine. Bitterly her mind went to what she and Xavier could have been doing for the festival had he lived. She put the mirror down, tearing her eyes away from her old home and an older pain.

She was surprised to see one of the dwarves sitting across from her in the King’s library. It was Darin, the one Lady Iounn had knocked out with her hammer. Zaire had been able to sense his power in the Elder Magic, a presence of power about him that reminded her of nature more than the High Magic. He was a handsome man, deep blue eyes that seemed to see more than what was before him.

“What did you see?” Darin asked in the trade tongue. “Hors told me about your…” He indicated the mirror, seeming to struggle with the word for a moment.

“Mirror,” Zaire supplied and Darin nodded. “I only have the power to look back at Myr, the capital of Dridia, my old home.”

“You are homesick?” Darin asked and Zaire looked away.

“No, I am sick for what could have been,” she answered wrapping her arms around herself. She looked at him and saw the same sort of solemn look, sympathy in a minor understanding of her pain.

“Can you see anything you want in your mirror?” Darin asked.

“No, I only have the power to look to a place I have been before,” Zaire answered. “A stronger mage could direct the mirror to look anywhere, but I don’t have the power to command such a powerful sigil.”

He looked disappointed but pressed on.

“Then have you seen a woman in Myr?” Darin asked. “She is half Daunish, half Aldan. Her hair is dusty gray, her skin brown like the Daunish, and her eyes… the dark blue color…”

“Indigo?” Zaire asked and Darin nodded. He rarely fought for words; it was interesting how well he actually spoke the trade tongue. “No I haven’t seen anyone like that. An Aldan outside of Alda these days is easily spotted. Who is she?”

“The witch Pepper who wields Melanthios,” Darin answered. “She is… was my lover.”

“Why was?” Zaire asked.

“Fate brought us apart,” Darin answered. “She left me to seek the song.”

“It isn’t forever,” Zaire said bitterly. “My lover is dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Darin said sounding genuine. “I did not know.”

Zaire only looked away, wrapping her arms around herself once more. Darin seemed to sense her pain, so cleared his throat and looked to the papers of calculations strewed about on the table.

“So how goes the stars?” Darin asked and Zaire appreciated the change in topic.

“Slow,” Zaire answered. “If I knew maybe more of what I was looking for I could determine what might be significant. Do the Phay have any mythology of the stars?”

“No, and if they do it is not through the dwarves,” Darin answered. “We are after all a… we live under the earth.”

“Subterranean,” Zaire said and Darin nodded, then he seemed to remember something.

“The Daunish have old myths though,” Darin said. “Maybe they have something that could help.”

“We’d have a long way to go to talk to the Daunish,” Zaire said, before remembering that there were now two here at court. It had been two weeks since the dwarves and Daunish had arrived at court and Zaire had paid little attention to how negotiations were going other than it had claimed most of Iounn’s time.

“Ronan could answer some things,” Darin said.

“He is not busy with the negotiations?” Zaire asked.

“Only Conor and Iounn are working with Sten and Roland,” Darin said. “Ronan is free. Come.”

Zaire gathered a few things and followed Darin out of the study and back to their rooms. There they found Donar, Hakk, Bgrim, and Ronan who was strumming a tune on his string instrument. Donar looked relieved to see them, looking bored. Ronan stopped his playing to stand and greet them.

“Greetings milady,” the minstrel said as he stood and bowed to her. “We haven’t been introduced. I be Ronan the wandering minstrel at yer service.”

“Zaire Weaver.”

“Careful of him Lady Zaire,” the dwarf called Bgrim said mildly. “He’s a bit of a flirt.”

“I cannot deny I enjoy the company of women,” Ronan said with a smile.

“We’re here to actually ask you about the mythology of stars,” Zaire said. “I’m having trouble narrowing down what to calculate when it comes to the stars.”

“I ken some myths but not a lot I’m afraid,” Ronan said seeming embarrassed. “There be only twenty n eight constellations accordin ta Daunish myth. Which stars we be talking bout?”

Zaire laid out a star map on the table to show him.

“The Golden Bow is here,” Zaire said. “I think Atarah is the other important constellation, but the Sect’s mythology of this constellation is limited. The constellations according to them are angels, this one is said to be the moon goddess’ daughter. She is called Atarah the crowned angel, but there isn’t much else about her in their texts.”

“Well that constellation be bigger in Daun,” Ronan said, pointing at the map to show how Atarah included several stars from Urs. “It was called the Broken Wheel. It was said that Fors created a wheel ta guide the mortal spirits o the Phay ta Tir Aesclinn but her first wheel broke and so she threw it inta the sky. The half of the wheel can be seen, and the shards scatter along here.”

“Poetic but Fors only made one wheel,” Donar said. “And she made it out of aether not stars. There’s a difference.”

“It be just a story,” Ronan said with a shrug.

“Well I think that shows the Daunish myths won’t shed much light on this,” Donar said.

“We baint ken less we try,” Ronan said looking at Zaire with bright eyes. Zaire felt her face heat with a slight blush and looked away.

“You said your knowledge was incomplete,” Darin said noticing Ronan’s attentions. “Perhaps we should also ask another for some tales of Nyrgard to see if their mythology could shed some light.”

“Who?” Ronan asked but Zaire already had the answer.

“Prince Soren is a bard,” Zaire said. “He was trained in all the tales of Nyrgard, he’ll know them all. He might actually know one about the song.”

“We should go ask him then,�� Donar said standing. “Hakk, Bgrim stay here, we don’t want to all be out in the keep.”

Hakk nodded as Donar led the way out of the room, Darin at his side. Zaire followed feeling Ronan following her. He was silent, Zaire sensing his discontent with this plan. They walked to the main hall, but did not find the prince. Zaire remembered the children and wondered then if he was in the gardens with them. She led the way then out to the gardens where they found Modi, Lofn, and Nora playing in the snow under the watchful eye of Colm.

“Have you seen the Prince Soren?” Zaire asked Colm.

“O’er there,” Colm said pointing. Zaire saw under the shelter of a yew tree Soren sat with Ingrid talking. “I be keepin an eye on em don’t worry,” Colm said, his green eyes languid.

“Does the Lady Iounn know of this?” Zaire asked lowly, suspecting Iounn would be angry. Colm shook his head, looking like he had eaten something sour. Zaire patted his arm and walked over to the pair, the two dwarves and minstrel following her. As they approached Zaire heard Soren was reciting a poem, a battle epic, and his hand rested just a hair’s breadth from Ingrid’s. Ingrid saw them and looked both relieved and disappointed, Soren trailing off. Before Zaire could speak Ronan beat her too it.

“Lady Ingrid,” Ronan said stepping forward and taking Ingrid’s hand. “Are you alright? This man isn’t bothering you is he?”

“This man is a Prince of Nyrgard,” Soren growled as he stood up. “I would never assault a lady especially not one so fair.”

“Seemed to me you were bothering her plenty,” Ronan answered. “She has been through enough without having another man force himself on her.”

“You would slander her?” Soren said hotly.

“Enough!” Donar shouted and both men jumped. The children had stopped playing to watch the exchange, the winter air deadly silent. “Lady Zaire, please accompany the Lady Ingrid back to her mother’s rooms. We’ll continue the discussion of the stars later.”

Zaire nodded and held her hand out to Ingrid. The young woman took her hand and stood, following her back to the keep. Zaire took her back to Ingrid’s rooms and closed the door relieved.

“Thank you but that wasn’t necessary,” Ingrid said sitting in a chair. “I didn’t mind his company.”

“Your mother told me of what you suffered,” Zaire said.

“No doubt it is court gossip already,” Ingrid said lowering her head.

“Shame only rules you when you let it,” Zaire said and Ingrid looked up at her. Zaire knew she read in her the same pain she had endured.

“How did it happen?” Ingrid asked. Ingrid’s eyes were sad and hollow; Zaire didn’t need to ask what she meant.

“I was eight,” Zaire answered and Ingrid’s eyes grew wider. “A sigil was cast within me so I could not bear children, in order to cast the sigil the mage had to reach inside of me.”

“That sounds awful,” Ingrid said softly.

“It was,” Zaire said. She rarely thought of that day, but she could still remember the look in her father’s eyes as she had been returned to him weeping and bleeding. He had consented to it; it had been the only thing to save her life. “I think the worst of it was the mage that did the casting didn’t care. To him I was little more than a dog he had on his table. He had no compassion and so he was not gentle. Even a touch of kindness might have made it bearable.”

Ingrid’s eyes were haunted, no doubt thinking over her own trauma.

“I think you’re right,” she said in a small voice. “One, he gave me a blanket out of pity. Even though he had been hard and mean, that blanket made me weep.”

Zaire only nodded and a silence stretched between them.

“How… I mean my mother told me about your lover,” Ingrid said. “How did you get over the pain?”

“The sigil placed within me had an outer sigil that caused me pain anytime I even thought of a man in such a way,” Zaire said. “Or a woman for that matter, any arousal was met with pain. I had grown so used to it I had hardly been aware of it. I probably hadn’t touched another person in years, not even the brush of a finger from a stranger. To me human contact meant pain.

“Xavier removed that sigil, though not the one that prevents me from having a child since it was beyond his skill. He had to force me; he removed the sigil without my consent. The pain of that and the fear hurt me deeply. I almost didn’t forgive him for that, until he showed me his own pain. When he touched me, kissed me for that first time… I felt what could be like to be loved by another.

“So if you are wondering if you could find love I don’t know Ingrid. It depends on the person, and it depends on you.”

“I see,” Ingrid said tears falling. “If this hadn’t happened… Soren is what I had always wanted but now…”

Zaire could not answer in words; instead she went to her and held her as she wept. It was all she could do and Zaire felt powerless; she wondered how Iounn could have lived with such a pain considering this was her daughter. When Ingrid was done crying Zaire left her to rest, going to seek out the prince. She found him alone pacing before one of the fireplaces in the great hall.

“Prince Soren,” Zaire said mildly and Soren stopped his pacing. He looked at her with concern, not for Zaire but for Ingrid she knew by the way he looked at her expectantly.

“Is the Lady Ingrid alright?” Soren asked. “I hadn’t meant to argue in front of her…”

“Do you know what she has endured?” Zaire asked him and Soren stopped.

“I… There are rumors but they are all lies,” Soren said. “She isn’t… She wouldn’t have…”

“Others call women whores even if the woman was raped,” Zaire said. “It is the way the world goes. Her reputation is destroyed, though I doubt her mother cares about that, she only hurts to know her daughter suffered such an experience and still suffers from it. The fact is Ingrid survived rape, I have as well, and can tell you the pain is something that stays with you for years.”

Soren was silent, his face gray and eyes wide, yet he met her gaze which most men would have looked away from.

“I don’t care what happened to her,” Soren said at last weakly.

“You should, you need to take care and be careful around her,” Zaire said. “Patience will win her over to you, time will be the only cure as her pain is still fresh. I can tell you one thing, had she not suffered as she had she would love you without hesitation. As it is she feels soiled and afraid. Her shame and fear will keep her from you for some time.”

“What can I do to ease her pain?” Soren asked.

“I don’t know,” Zaire answered. “Each person is different.”

“What about tales then?” Soren asked. “Ingrid said she wanted to be a bard.”

Zaire thought that over and nodded.

“She is like her mother, full of pride,” Zaire said. “Let her gain her pride back in her ability of a bard and I think she will recover. But I warn you, do not touch her. Let her come to you, it may be years until she warms to it.”

“I can wait,” Soren said and Zaire glared at him. He met her gaze and Zaire at last looked away hoping he would keep to his word.

“When the negotiations are over I believe you should go to Lady Iounn and discuss her daughter’s future with her,” Zaire said and Soren winced.

“She will not be thrilled,” Soren said. “But I will.”

“And no more fighting,” Zaire said. “Ronan will be warned off again, keep away from him.”

“Yes Lady Zaire,” Soren said bowing to her. “You are surprisingly commanding right now Zaire.”

Zaire had no answer to that so she bowed and took her leave. She wondered though at what Soren had said, she had become braver. But this wasn’t new, she still remembered saving Xavier from the Legion and Ilya. She had been brave then too, and Zaire realized Xavier had been the one to change her. Before she had been too afraid to even touch another person or speak against those who oppressed her, and now she was defending others. Xavier had saved her in more ways than one.

The negotiations continued Iounn complaining often of the stubbornness of men. Though they were still arguing over the price of their aid, Sten had summoned nearby lords and they too arrived to add to the confusion. Details were being sorted out, horses and ships arranged, and a wagon trail for supplies organized. Zaire had no idea so much went into organizing an army, it seemed like going to war was more about logistics than battle. She was glad to be excluded from the discussions, focusing on her own calculations.

One day however Iounn called a council of her own of the dwarves, Hors, Ronan, and Zaire. They gathered in the dwarves’ room Iounn looking around pensively.

“I believe it is time we decide which paths we follow,” Iounn said. “Sten has agreed to send and army to Daun, we are now just arguing over numbers and price. So where will each of us go? To Daun to war or to Alda in search of the song?”

“We are going to Alda,” Donar said. “I know Daun is in danger, and that they need guidance in battle against the Orcs, but Runi charged us with the search of the song. I know there are others seeking it, but we do not know if they will find it. Ronan will be our guide. We go to Alda.”

“Hors, you said you had a plan of some sort,” Iounn said turning to the dragon child.

“Of a sort yes,” Hors answered. “And I already know where your heart lies Iounn, you want to go to Daun. Sten and Roland are riding to war with the army, it is in their natures. You know you will be needed as ambassador for them in Daun if the two are to hold together in battle. I will be needed as ambassador to the Dwarves, someone is needed who can speak the Phay language. I am going with you to Daun.”

“But Hors, what about Melanthios?” Darin asked. “Pepper is probably in Alda with the dragon blade.”

“You can carry a message from me to him,” Hors said. “While I would very much like to meet with Melanthios, we have our own paths. Once he learns I am alive and reborn he will agree to this.”

“Would you two not be more powerful together?” Donar asked and Hors sighed heavily and then answered in the Phay language. Donar went white and covered his eyes.

“What is it?” Iounn asked worried.

“Nothing Iounn,” Hors said. “I would not let it happen so there is no need for you to know.”

“Secrets,” Iounn growled. “I am not a child Hors.”

“To me you are,” Hors answered. “But I am not telling you to protect you from a hard truth Iounn, I am keeping this secret out of shame.”

Iounn looked at the dragon child puzzled, but then nodded.

“Very well, if you see it as best.”

“So it is decided each of our paths,” Hors said.

“Wait,” Zaire gasped. “What of me?”

“You will be safest here,” Iounn said as if soothing a child. “You can continue your work and send letters of your discoveries. We have plenty of time until the second resonance.”

The thought of safety was appealing; the idea of going to war with Iounn terrified her. But she looked at Darin and saw his anticipation to leave and seek out his lover. She thought of Xavier then and how he had told her once to flee to Alda. They were his people, though he had never lived there, they were his blood. She felt the desire take root, to get just a little closer to him through the Aldan.

“I want to go to Alda with Donar,” Zaire said, forging on before anyone could object. “I can keep up I swear. And we will be traveling through southern Dridia my native country. I can do my calculations anywhere, and the libraries in Alda are said to be nearly as extensive as the Tower of Balal. I will be of more use there than here. Ingrid and Lofn can continue to research here in case there is anything here.”

Iounn was frowning and Hors lashed his tail, both looking ready to object when Donar spoke first.

“Very well, your company is appreciated,” he said smoothly.

“What?” Iounn said. “She is in heartbreak and a mere scholar; she is not fit to go traveling across the kingdoms.”

“She says she can keep up and I believe she can,” Donar said. “And it is my decision who I take with me not yours. A mage in our party would be useful through Dridia as well.”

“She is in my service,” Iounn argued.

“She is not your slave, she has the right to leave when she pleases,” Donar said.

“The laws in Nyrgard are different,” Iounn said hotly.

“Iounn, would you really force her to stay?” Hors said lamely, apparently having a change of heart. “She has a right to her freedom. I know you want to protect her, but Zaire is not your daughter.”

Zaire looked to Iounn shocked and saw tears in her eyes about to spill over. Iounn turned to her as well looking furious. She stalked over and lifted Zaire off her feet in a big hug, pressing her face to her shoulder.

“You come back you hear?” Iounn said hurt and Zaire returned her embrace startled to find tears of her own. She remembered her mother, though she had been nothing like Iounn, she still felt the resemblance in the warm embrace.

“I will,” Zaire said.

“We will protect her Lady Iounn,” Darin said. “You can have faith in that.”

Iounn only nodded seeming overcome.

Days passed once more in the long steady way of winter. Zaire was used to the stable calm weather of Myr, controlled by the mages. There during the winter it hardly ever snowed, if it did it was little more than a dusting. Here the snow continued to fall until the roofs of the city were groaning under the weight of it. It was so cold even in the keep Zaire went about wrapped in a large fur cloak. Zaire now understood the Nyrgarder’s love of fur and leather.

Still she marveled at the beauty of the snow. On some days the clouds were so thick and wind so strong one could hardly see anything outside. But on clear days the sun shone so bright against the snow it was almost blinding. It was so bitterly cold on those bright days her teeth ached. But Zaire would often go up to the highest tower on clear days to look out over Thorrak Bay and the Ionnfell Mountains. The mountains looked like clouds in the sky covered in snow as they were and the bay spread out in a bright blue expanse that rivaled the sky. Zaire looked down at the beauty of the world feeling tears in her eyes, missing Xavier.

She threw herself into her calculations, not just to forget Xavier but because she loved the work. She always had found it calming and had always enjoyed the calculations. It often reminded her of her father, how he would spend long hours at his desk writing out numbers.

Cael’s Day approached and the Court of Legends was abuzz for the coming festival. Zaire knew little about politics, lords, or the court itself, but Iounn seemed to know it well. The lords of course brought their ladies with them and Iounn had taken the role of hostess though she bore no relation to the royal line. If any of the other nobles took offense to a mere Baroness acting like a queen, they wisely did not voice their complaints.

Zaire had hardly celebrated the God Day before, both because mages hardly celebrated the gods and because she had no one to spend it with. Though Xavier was not with her, Zaire was surprised to find she actually had people around her she could call friends. The God’s Day arrived and they spent the morning in the library once more. This time however Darin and Bgrim had joined them since the King’s council was busy with the festival. Soren and Ronan were not there as he was going to have a lot to do for the festival, so Hors was out on the table reading as well.

Lofn and Ingrid weren’t reading today however, but carving. They both had a bit of soap stone and were carving it into animals, Ingrid carving hers into a bear.

“What is that supposed to be Lofn?” Ingrid asked.

“A dragon,” Lofn answered holding up the lump of stone, it hardly looked like a dragon, more like a twisted cat.

“Why are you two carving those?” Darin asked.

“They’re our Cael’s day gifts for our mother,” Ingrid answered. “We give gifts on Cael’s day; usually we make ours since we don’t have any coin.”

“Should we have gotten gifts?” Darin said worried.

“Only family give gifts to each other,” Zaire answered. “Or lovers, it is a familial matter so you won’t be expected to give anything.”

“Good,” Darin said sounding relieved. “Is this a tradition that spans all the kingdoms?”

“Cael’s day is widely celebrated over the kingdoms,” Zaire answered, remembering her own Cael’s Day celebrations with her family. At first those had been wonderful memories, but after her mother died the God’s Day became a day of sadness. Zaire remembered her father drinking most of the day, even her gifts to him didn’t cheer him. Yet he still got her a gift that she wanted, a haunted look in his eyes when he gave them to her.

“What do you think mother got us this year?” Lofn asked Ingrid.

“I don’t know but I can guess where she hid them,” Ingrid said with a grin. “Let’s go!”

Lofn laughed as she followed her sister out of the library, leaving them alone.

“Those two are spoiled sometimes,” Hors said, but he said it with a smile. “Now that they’re gone though I can ask all of you something.”

“What?” Zaire asked curious.

“Bgrim, you were the one to know about the Giant’s road,” Hors said looking to the dwarf. “Do you know anything else about the mountains around here?”

“I don’t know of any more roads,” Bgrim answered. “I only know a few stories about this area. The Ionnfell Mountains are home to the giants, our people rarely lived here. The Greatlings, the Giants, roamed through both mountain ranges though. Our history goes that we once wared with the Giants, up until men started to rise up out of the mud and beasts.”

“Most of the Nyrgardic legends say that they wared with the giants so much that they became bathed in their blood. They say that is why they are so tall,” Zaire said.

“That is probably true,” Hors said. “As I recall many giants were killed in battle against the Nyrgarders, and their blood could have that affect if it was drunken enough. It would have happened over generations though.”

“Is that why they slumber?” Darin asked.

“No, those in the Weir Mountains slumber as well,” Hors said. “The giant’s fell into slumber at the death of their king. The Giants were born from the Phay Aurgelmir, one of the eldest of the Phay. Kur was the first of the Phay to arrive in Miread, but Aurgelmir was the second. The first of the Phay when they had taken their forms were colossal in size, Kur was said to be larger than mountains and maybe even the moon.

“Aurgelmir was just as large and when he arrived in Miread he created a crater so large it filled with sea water, making what is now called the Thorrak Bay. He also made the mountains, both the Ionnfell Mountains and the Weir Mountains, by shaping the earth with his hands. When he was shaping the mountains however he woke one of the fire mountains. The volcano erupted in his hands and Aurgelmir stumbled away wounded.

“As he lay in the mountains dying he dreamed the giants, they were born out of his blood and the ashes of the fire mountain. The giants had many kings after their race came to be. Not all of the Phay are ruled by those that created them, Kur was the creator of the race of dragons but she died centuries ago. I wasn’t even king after her; I had two predecessors before I took the role.

“The giants’ last king was a giant by the name of Thrym. When the Nyrgarders arrived in Miread they started a war for land with the giants, killing all they could. The giants never developed weapons and the Nyrgarders had good steel and numbers on their side. Thrym fell in battle against Arnór, a Nyrgardic king of legend. When Thrym fell the giants all fell into a slumber, I believe it was Thrym’s will that did so. In their slumber they are protected since their bodies turned to stone and they cannot be killed in this state.

“After the giants all fell many of the Phay talked of marching, it was one of the many driving factors to our march.”

“So that is why the giants sleep,” Darin said amazed. “We never knew. Can they be woken? If they got a new king would that wake them?”

“Yes, a new king would wake them but it isn’t that simple,” Hors said. “The giants usually choose their king by battle. Every hundred years or so they meet and do battle, usually in one big melee. The victor is king, often kings were overthrown in their battles.”

“They cannot chose a new king if they all are asleep,” Darin said.

“Maybe,” Hors answered. “Since the giants fell asleep before the march I fear they might not awaken until the Phay march.”

“Then why ask me about them?” Bgrim said.

“Because I hope we can find one and wake it,” Hors answered. “If someone of enough power sings the march it should be enough to wake a giant.”

“Pepper tried to wake a giant and failed,” Darin said shaking his head. “She has more power than all of us; I don’t think it can be done.”

“Why wake a giant in the first place?” Bgrim asked and then seemed to remember something a grinned. “This was the plan you stated, the way to unite the Dwarves with the Daunish isn’t it?”

“A giant can travel through the mountains faster than any of us especially in winter,” Hors answered. “With a giant we can get to the dwarves and will have a powerful warrior on our side as well. Today is auspicious day; the solstice would be a good day to wake one.”

“Then we should go now before it gets dark,” Darin said as he stood. They hurried to follow him, Hors leaping up to hide himself in Zaire’s hood. They walked from the library and to the great hall where fires and candles made the great room unbearably warm. Nobles and knights had all gathered and were already drinking and singing, tables piled high with the feast of Cael.

“Lady Zaire,” Ronan said spotting them and heading through the crowd over to them. “About time you joined us,” Ronan said with a smile.

“I’m afraid we’re not here for the feast,” Donar said. “We were just about to head out.”

“Out?” Ronan said puzzled. “Have you seen outside? A blizzard blew in about an hour ago; the streets are already knee deep in snow.”

Zaire looked around, but the great hall had no windows nor could she hear anything over the din of the crowd. Darin hurried over to the nearest exit door and cracked it open, a swirl of snow and howling wind coming in before he slammed it shut.

“It seems we are stuck here for the night,” Darin said sourly. Zaire felt Hors lash his tail against her back and she tilted her head towards him.

“Can we do this another night?” Zaire asked.

“We will have to,” Hors answered. “I’m sure you can find another night that holds power for the waking.”

Zaire nodded feeling disappointed, the idea of waking a giant had sounded exhilarating.

“Who are you talking to Lady Zaire?” Ronan asked.

“Just myself,” Zaire said. They had not told Ronan about Hors, wanting to keep the dragon child as much of a secret as they could. “It seems we are just in time for the celebration.”

“Right, come you must eat,” Ronan said happily. Zaire smiled and nodded to him, letting Ronan take her hand and lead her off. She was grateful that Donar, Darin, Bgrim, and Hakk followed however. Since she had sternly warned Ronan to leave Ingrid alone he had started flirting with her instead.

Ronan took them to one of the guest tables near the king’s table and sat them down. Zaire looked up at the king’s table looking for Iounn, but instead met eyes with Dirk. She felt the blood drain from her face as the prince saw her and stood, making his way over. He had kept his word and stayed away all this time, yet now he was walking over with intent. Zaire stood with a mumbled word about seeing Iounn and hurried to intercept Dirk.

“Lady Zaire,” Dirk said with the same crooked grin as before. “How have you been?”

“Fantastic since you’ve been leaving me alone,” Zaire said caustically and Dirk winced. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have to see Iounn.”

“Wait,” Dirk said standing between her and the king’s table. “Maybe we could share a dance together?”

“No,” Zaire answered, trying to step around him, but Dirk grabbed her wrist. Zaire saw heads turning in curiosity and worried that they were attracting attention. Before she had to worry further however someone spoke.

“Prince Dirk, I hope that is not your hand I see on my mage’s wrist,” Iounn said coolly. They both turned to see Iounn standing behind them, her blue eyes sparking with mild anger.

“No Lady Iounn,” Dirk said quickly dropping Zaire’s wrist.

“Good, because if it were I wouldn’t take this matter to your father,” Iounn said and Dirk looked at her puzzled. Iounn’s hand dropped to the hammer she still wore at her belt. “I would deal with the matter with my own power.”

“I understand Lady Iounn,” Dirk said with a quick bow. “I will not go near her again.”

“Good,” Iounn said mildly. “You are dismissed then Prince Dirk.”

Dirk bowed once more, but he glanced at Zaire as he left, his eyes regretful.

“Thank you Lady Iounn,” Zaire said relieved. “Would you really have fought him?”

“Yes, but whether or not I could hold my own would have been another matter,” Iounn answered. “My late husband taught me how to fight, though I think I learned more from wrestling with my brother when we were children. Mainly if you ever want to get away from a man all you have to do is grab his stones and crush them.”

“Your poor brother,” Zaire said as she laughed and Iounn grinned at her.

“I only did it the one time,” Iounn said. “And he suffered no lasting damage, his five children attest to that.”

Zaire laughed again and Iounn moved closer. Hors moved quickly from Zaire’s shoulders to Iounn’s, nestling in her great mane of golden hair. Zaire heard him whisper something to her and Iounn’s merriment died a little.

“The war negotiations are almost done,” Iounn said to him. “We are just working out the last of the logistics. Sten plans on marching at the beginning of the new year.”

Hors whispered something else, Zaire unable to hear him over the din of the room.

“No thank the gods,” Iounn said and saw Zaire’s attention. “Hors just asked if my sons will be marching to war, but they won’t. I know they will want to but the passes to Stóstund stay blocked well into spring. They won’t be able to march until then.”

“But the war could still be going on when spring comes,” Zaire said and wish she hadn’t. Iounn’s eyes clouded over and for the first time Zaire saw fear in her eyes.

“Let us hope they will not come,” Iounn said softly. Zaire nodded pensively and looked out into the crowded hall. Her eye fell on Soren and Ingrid, both standing in a sheltered corner. Soren appeared to be offering a gift to Ingrid, the young woman accepting it cautiously.

“Lady Iounn,” Zaire said and pointed to the pair. Iounn’s eyes melted and she sighed heavily.

“Soren came to me and told me his intentions,” Iounn said wearily. “Ingrid said she would like to get to know him so begged me to approve. I didn’t have the heart to deny her. Soren swore he would not touch her however and he has kept his word so far. We’ve kept it secret as well, no need to put pressure on Ingrid while she is still adjusting.”

“He’ll be good to her milady,” Zaire said.

“I know, and I hope with all my heart he can heal at least some of her pain,” Iounn said. Her face lost some of the tension as her daughter smiled, unwrapping the gift Soren had given her. It was a hand harp, beautifully crafted and a work of art on its own. She smiled up at Soren and he gazed down at her with his heart in his eyes. Ingrid began to play the harp, the sound lost in the noisy hall but her fingers plucked at the strings. Soren’s eyes grew brighter, and he just stood listening to her play entrapped.

An idea suddenly struck Zaire then and she turned to Iounn.

“Hors, Darin said that the witch Pepper tried to wake a giant but failed,” Zaire said. “None of us are nearly as strong as she was in the Elder Magic.”

“I’d still like to try but you’re right,” Hors said heavily. “I doubt we have the power to wake one.”

“Why?” Iounn said puzzled. “I sang to the dragon egg and you were born. Would the song not work here?”

“This is different Iounn,” Hors answered. “The giants’ spirits are inside them entombed, I was riding Fors’ Wheel. Fors spent the power directing me back to be reborn. When you sang to the song you weren’t waking my spirit, you were waking the body that I now inhabit. It is a young body and one that was already waiting for a spirit to inhabit it. It hardly took any magic to waken it; you have some power in the Elder Magic but nothing close to a witch’s. Zaire or Nora have more power than you.”

“Then why I am the one who must be your guardian?” Iounn said bitterly. “Why not a witch of great power?”

“Iounn it doesn’t have to be you,” Hors answered. “I want it to be you, I like you and Lofn. I chose you as my guardian because of who you are not because of any power.”

Iounn looked surprised and flattered, staring out into the hall with a pensive stare.

“Hors I think I know a way to wake the giant,” Zaire said and Iounn turned to her. “One of the treasures from the king’s vault was a horn.”

“A loud noise won’t work Zaire,” Hors said. “The giants’ slumber is a lot different than a normal sleep or even hibernation.”

“No I know,” Zaire said. “But our problem is playing the march with enough power to wake a giant correct? I think I can enchant the horn to play the song with enough power to wake the giant.”

“Volume isn’t power,” Hors said. “Nor do I think the High Magic will work.”

“No but if I enchant the horn to funnel Elder Magic into the sound of the song it could work,” Zaire said and Hors looked at her through Iounn’s hair.

“You can do this?” Hors asked amazed.

“I think I can,” Zaire answered nodding. “I’ll be using the High Magic to direct the Elder Magic.”

“Be careful about that,” Hors said in warning. “The Elder Magic tends to resist control.”

“No but you said it was more like a force of nature,” Zaire said. “That things often just happen in the Elder Magic. I won’t be using the High Magic to command that force, just direct it like a levy directs flood waters.”

“It could work…” Hors mused.

Before he could say more the great hall doors burst open. Everyone shouted surprised as a wave of wind and snow blew into the hall howling, a man marching into the great hall. He was cloaked and hooded, covered in a stiff layer of snow. Servants hurried to close the doors, the man marching past them and into the middle of the hall to approach the king’s table.

“Who dares burst in on our Cael’s Day celebrations!” Sten roared, Zaire noting he was red in the face with drink. Roland, at least a little more sober, motioned for his father to sit and stood to face the stranger in their mists.

“Who are you stranger?” Roland said in a commanding tone. All eyes were now on the man in the middle of the room as he shook his cloak free of snow.

“Freezing that’s what I am,” the man grumbled. “So this is the great hospitality of the Nyrgardic host?”

“State your name stranger or I’ll have you thrown back out into the blizzard,” Roland growled. “You are speaking to the Prince Regent of Nyrgard.”

“I’m speaking to the presumptive Prince Regent of Nyrgard,” the man answered blithely. The crowd muttered and Roland slammed his fist down on the table red with rage. Before more could be said however the man pulled back his hood and everyone in the room stared in shock. He was Markian, handsome and about Dirk’s age. Zaire didn’t need to know him to know this was a noble just by the arrogant way he held himself.

“Prince Orus,” Roland growled. “I’ve heard rumors calling you the wandering prince. Seems it is true if you’ve managed to find your way to Hólmsted. How did you get through the mountains?”

“It is hard for a single person but it can be done,” Orus said mildly.

“You probably killed five horses just to wander around the kingdoms,” Roland said. “Don’t you serve your father better at home rather than as some Rhodin bedmate? Especially with what happened to your brother.”

Muttered words erupted from this. Zaire had heard gossip about how the High King had mutilated the third Prince of the Mark. She was surprised Roland had been so bold. Orus was glaring openly now, his hand falling to his sword.

“Nyrgarders are all the same,” Orus growled. “All cock and no balls.”

“You’re one to talk!” Roland roared. “Markians hiding behind your wall like some coward while the Regarian prince fucks your princess.”

Orus looked ready to draw his sword when Iounn stepped forward to stand between the two arguing lords. She had drawn her hammer but kept it low, her stance every bit the ready warrior.

“Stop these childish insults both of you!” Iounn shouted. “You are Princes and lords of your kingdoms, not some drunkards slinging insults over ale!”

Roland had the grace to look ashamed, and while Orus’ hand fell from his sword he still glared up at Roland.

“I am sorry milord for the grievous welcome you have received,” Iounn said to him patiently. “I’m afraid with the coming war tension has been high within court.”

“So the High King has summoned you as well to war?” Orus said and Iounn looked puzzled.

“No, Daun has called for aid,” Iounn said motioning over to Sir Conor who stood. “A threat rises from the Weir Mountains and Daun is ill prepared to meet it. To what do you refer to?”

“War has risen to the east,” Orus said and whispers rang through the court. “King Son Rue of Lir has been killed and a man calling himself Emperor has taken the throne. He seeks dominance of the Nine Kingdoms and the High Throne. Arian Drasir has ridden to meet this threat and put his nephew on the throne. He has called on the kingdoms he can to send him aid.”

“Word reaches us slowly in the mountains,” Iounn said wearily and Orus nodded.

“The Mark will not marshal to his call,” Orus said darkly. “My father is weak; he wishes only to hide away in Warren as if he were the badger he wears. I have ridden here instead seeking your aid. While Drasir does battle in the east we can take Cair Leone and the High Throne.”

Silence met this statement, shock and fear making the air thick with tension. Then Conor walked forward, his face grim and drawn.

“You would ask Nyrgard to abandon Daun to seek the High Throne instead?” Conor asked and Orus glared at him. “The High Throne would mean nothing if you destroyed the Nine in obtaining it.”

“You do not speak for Nyrgard,” Orus said and looked at Roland. “Well Prince Regent presumptive, how would you like to become the king of not only Nyrgard, but the Nine Kingdoms?”

Roland looked contemplative, but Iounn spoke first.

“And your father would support his claim?” Iounn said. “As well as the Nine? The High Throne and alliance of the Nine Kingdoms was centered around Absalom’s blood line. Currently that line has culminated in only one line, that of the Drasirs.”

“Until now,” Orus said. “Two witches of the moors came to Warren and mended the wall there. They carry the ring of Eileen, twin daughters and the lost princesses of the Alvar house. My father exiled them, they now reside in Alda.”

Zaire noticed Darin then at the edge of the crowd, listening with a slight frown. She hurried over to him as the conversation continued.

“Where no doubt Queen Alora has already married them off and now awaits the children they will bear,” Iounn said with distain.

“Such things can always be remedied,” Orus said. “The twin’s husbands then have claim to the High Throne.”

Zaire joined Darin and looked up at Roland to see a greedy light in his eyes. Before he could speak however Sten stood.

“Whelp,” Sten said. “You are here against your father’s wishes by your own admission. Making promises for your whole kingdom when you are little more than a vagabond. You would draw us into a war that could tear the kingdoms asunder when they are already at each other’s throats. Daun has called for our aid and we have already invested ourselves in their campaign. They have promised us land and realistic profit from battle. What do you have to offer but dreams of greatness that will most likely end in only ash?”

Roland’s greed seemed to die at his father’s words and he sat back in his chair pensively. Orus seeing he was losing the battle flushed with rage.

“The Regarians stole my sister and crippled my brother and you would just sit at their feet meekly accepting their tyranny!” Orus shouted. “What have they stolen from you Sten! Your only daughter raped and torn asunder by the bastard of the Drasirs, your own son’s rightful rule over his people, and even your pride as a warrior of Nyrgard!”

“Enough!” Sten roared, throwing his drinking horn so hard it shattered against the wall. His face turned bright red and he began to gasp for breathe, clutching at his chest. Ekkehard raced forward and supported him, calling for aid and a healer. Iounn hurried to the king’s side and they helped him from the hall, leaving a troubled silence behind.

“Get out,” Roland growled to Orus. “The Mark was once ally to us, but no longer. You’ve insulted my family and honor Prince Orus. Go back to your father and brood in your walled city alone.”

“It seems the might of the Nyrgard warriors is no more,” Orus said coldly. “It seems I have found nothing here worthy of the High Throne.”

He turned on his heel and left, dark mutterings following him out.

“The celebration is over,” Roland said sourly. “Go to your beds, I have to tend to my father.”

He stood and left, along with the other princes. Lords and ladies dispersed in mournful groups, talking among themselves of the news and argument they had just witnessed. Zaire reached the dwarves, who seemed unsettled by the show.

“You’ve just witnessed kingdom politics at work it seems,” Zaire said with false humor.

“It is a wonder your kingdoms are not in a constant state of war,” Donar said mildly.

“I expect it is because the women hold it together,” Bgrim said.

“What did Iounn say about Pepper?” Darin said looking at Zaire. “She said something about marriage.”

“She said that the Queen of Alda has probably already married them to lords of Alda,” Zaire said. “Since they are heirs to the Alvar line they can bear the next High King. The Queen of Alda would have seen to them being married so they can give birth to an heir.”

“Give birth,” Darin said turning pale and shaking his head. “Pepper wouldn’t… I mean she would hate that and it would break her spirit.”

“There is no guarantee that has happened,” Donar said. Darin shook his head and stood, his hands shaking.

“I need to be alone,” Darin said walking away. Zaire watched him go with her heart like a lead weight in her chest. How much pain could it be to know that your lover was now sworn to another? Zaire wondered idly if it was worse that knowing one’s lover to be dead.

#fantasy #series #writing #please read #fairies #dragons

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fableweaver · 7 years ago

Text

Arc of the Dragon Keeper

She felt water on her skin, the light feathery touch of mist against her face making her open her eyes. Iounn saw a colorful mist around her so thick she couldn’t see anything else. She looked around confused until she felt something in the mist around her. The presence closed around her, but she saw nothing in the mist.

“Don’t worry,” Hors said soothingly. “I’ve guided your spirit here.”

“Why?” Iounn asked.

“We need to see what is happening in Tir Aesclinn, but I cannot travel the lines alone,” Hors answered.

“Where are you?” Iounn asked.

“Anchored to your spirit, you can’t see me,” Hors answered. “I’m not strong enough anymore to walk the lines.”

“What about that spirit you spoke of?” Iounn asked.

“The Crippled One cannot patrol all the paths of the lines, nor does he know them all,” Hors answered. “Do not speak his name or you may draw his eye. Come, let us walk on.”

Iounn followed Hors’ prompting and walked on through the mist. She flinched at every shadow, fearing the soul eater that Hors had spoken of. He had made it seem like the creature was an evil from old tales, those used to scare children to stay inside. She still remembered her own mother telling her tales before the fire of bad children that wandered from home. Many of the creatures in those tales had been dark spirits that ate children.

A light ahead made Iounn quicken her pace hurrying to reach the light. It was a cedar tree, half of it ablaze and the other half bright green. Iounn couldn’t smell smoke, instead the fumes coming from the flames smelled like steam.

“It is the Burning Stone,” Hors said.

“It is a tree,” Iounn said puzzled.

“It is petrified wood,” Hors answered. “Water still runs through the tree, it is the water boiling within that mingles with the aether.”

“But how is it green? And on fire?”

“I don’t know,” Hors answered. “The Burning Stone has been the marker for Tir Aesclinn since it came into existence. I always thought of it as a visual representation of the four elements, earth, air, water, and fire.”

Iounn looked at the tree in awe and realized Hors was right, it was a blending of all four of those elements. She moved on past the Burning Stone and into the forest beyond. Iounn had never seen such a forest. Near Stóstund the forests were dark pines and evergreens, old trees that had stood as old as the mountains. Yet even those could not compare to the trees of this forest.

The giants stood taller than buildings, taller than mountains, their trunks thick and covered in moss or lichen. Smaller trees and bushes stood between them, making the forest thick and green. Hors guided her on through the forest and to the edge of the islands. The sight of the floating islands convinced Iounn then she was no longer in her world. The stars filled the skies and below them, the mist of aether floating between the islands.

Iounn crossed several bridges and on to the heart of Tir Aesclinn. She hid in a bush when she heard voices and looked out into a clearing. Below were gathered Hors’ kin in a great crowd of creatures. Iounn stared in astonishment at the gathering awed by its size.

“Clíodhna,” one of the Queens in the center of the gathering said to a strange creature dressed in raven feathers.

“Clíodhna is the Queen of the Banshee,” Hors whispered quickly to Iounn. “Titania she and her twin sister Mab are Queens of the Fairies.”

“Titania,” Clíodhna said as she bowed her head to the other queen. “We heard the song was sung and came. We cannot march.”

“Why not?” one of the many creatures asked startled.

“The Dullahan still slumber,” Clíodhna answered gesturing to the headless men on horses behind her. The crowd erupted into such a ruckus Iounn flinched away and woke. For a moment she lay in her bed confused and muddled, sitting up and looking around. Lofn and Nora lay next to her snuggled together around a pillow. It must have been early dawn, the shutters still shut tight and fire burned down to coals.

Shivering Iounn rose from bed and went to the fireplace, stepping around Colm carefully. She stirred the coals and tossed in a new log, the fire warming the room. She fetched a tapper from the mantel and lit it, returning to bed. Hors sat curled on one of the pillows watching her.

“So, who are the Dullahan?” Iounn asked pulling the covers back over Lofn and Nora.

“The shadow riders they were known to guide lost spirits of the dead,” Hors answered. “After the march the Dullahan fell into a mysterious sleep, they have not woken since.”

“They were the black riders?” Iounn asked. “They had no heads.”

“Yes, the Dullahan carry their heads usually,” Hors answered. “Their heads must still be slumbering.”

“But how…” Iounn shook her head, deciding she didn’t want to know how the Dullahan’s body could move around while the head was asleep.

“They’re sleepwalking,” Hors answered. “The Banshee must have guided them to the clearing, but they’re probably not aware of what is going on around them. The Phay cannot march if the Dullahan still slumber.”

“Why?” Iounn asked.

“The Dullahan cannot leave their heads behind and they can’t carry the head while it is asleep. The body will sleep if it touches the slumbering head. They can move if guided while they slumber but they can’t leave their heads behind.”

“What if others carry their heads for them?” Iounn asked.

“The rest of the Phay fear touching the Dullahans’ heads since they may fall asleep like them,” Hors answered. “I had expected when the song was sung the Dullahan would wake. The song had been sung before and they stirred. Maybe they will wake when the answer comes.”

Iounn was about to answer when Lofn stirred and woke, yawning as she rubbed her eyes.

“Morning,” Lofn said sleepily.

“Good morning,” Iounn said smiling to her daughter.

“Why are you still in bed?” Lofn asked.

“Just waiting for the room to warm,” Iounn answered. “I just woke up; did we wake you?”

Lofn shook her head sleepily and went to fetch the chamber pot. Nora woke as well and went to her father after a brief nod to Iounn. Iounn stood and went to the water basin to wash. After their morning routine Colm fetched breakfast from the kitchens. They ate bacon, eggs, beans, and sausages for their breakfast today, always spoiled with fine food.

“Colm watch after the girls today,” Iounn said once she finished eating.

“Meeting with the king again milady?” Colm asked.

She just nodded, it had been two weeks already and she had yet to even go in search of a boat or more news at the docks thanks to the king and princes. Hors leapt up onto her shoulders and hid himself in her hair and hood. Iounn left her rooms and went to the King’s council chamber. Meetings of law were hardly ever public, so the king held these meetings in the council chamber. Iounn arrived third it seemed, Sten and Soren already present. Soren seemed to have just arrived as he was setting out parchment for the meeting. Sten sat at the table staring at the peace treaty from the King’s Wars.

“If you keep staring at it you will go cross eyed majesty,” Iounn said as she sat at the table next to Sten.

“I know,” Sten said wearily as he pushed the paper away to rub his eyes. He looked at her then and reached out, trying to pet Hors hidden in her hair. Hors merely retreated further into her hair. “What is his name?” Sten asked still trying to coax the dragon out. He still thought Hors was just a cat and Iounn had a felling the king liked cats.

“Hors majesty,” Iounn answered.

“Hors… That sounds familiar,” Sten said as he frowned.

“It is the name of the King of the Dragons from legend,” Soren answered, startling Iounn with his knowledge.

“You named your cat after the King of Dragons?” Sten asked laughing.

“He thinks himself very kingly majesty,” Iounn said defensively. Sten laughed but Soren looked pensive, almost contemplative as he stared at Hors hidden in her hair. Before he could think long on it Roland and Roque arrived. Roland finally looked sober; the hopes of gaining some standing seemed like the best medicine he could ask for. Roque however looked cross for a reason. Their debate would begin again.

“So, have you found that loop hole that will let you put a dagger in my back?” Roque asked sourly.

“Not yet,” Sten growled.

“No one wants to put a dagger in your back, Lord Roque,” Iounn answered. She was sure the only reason this had not come to blows was because of her presence.

“Only in the front,” Roland said, and Roque glared at him. “Only Regarians are cowardly enough to stab a man in the back.”

“Is there any more?” Iounn said firmly and everyone turned to her. “Go on get it all out so we can just get on with this.”

“Then we would be here all-day milady,” Soren said sounding tired.

“I do not even know why we are here!” Roque argued as if Soren had not even spoken. “If Sten wishes to abdicate he can feel free to. But I am the Prince Regent; I will take the throne until my son is fit.”

“I will not step aside if you are the one to take the throne,” Sten growled and Iounn raised her hands and silence fell again.

“You forget where you are milord Roque,” Iounn said calmly. “This is Nyrgard not Regis. Our laws are different than yours.”

“In regard to inheritance you are right,” Soren said enthused and retrieved a tomb. Laying it on the table he opened it to a certain page. “In the cases of multiple heirs, such as sons or brothers, the king may choose his heir, no matter the succession.”

“The treaty says different,” Roque argued. “And I am sure my brother will have something to say about all of this.”

“You wish to rule Nyrgard Lord Roque?” Iounn asked and Roque looked at her a little surprised. “That will involve a lot of duties I’m sure you know. I do believe it would cut into your hunting time. Winter is a prime season for fur hunting is it not?”

Roque looked annoyed then, glaring at her and then Sten.

“I’m sure we agree that certain provisions could be made,” Roque said lowly.

“Provisions milord?” Iounn said and Roque looked back at her. “I fear your brother may have words with you about that. I doubt very much High King Drasir will like the idea of his brother passing his duties off on another just to go hunting. If he learned of this I do not think the High King would be very pleased.”

The blood drained from Roque’s face and Iounn knew her guess had been correct. Roque feared his half-brother and wasn’t willing to cross him.

“Lady Iounn I am sure there is no need to notify my brother of this matter,” Roque said. “I was sent here to enforce the treaty, we can settle this here. There is no need to bother my brother with such petty matters; he is very busy after all.”

“Very well,” Iounn said, it would be much easier to deal with things if the High King was not involved.

“I want to be named regent,” Roland said ruining all Iounn’s work.

“Never!” Roque shouted. “I am the Prince Regent!”

“Lord Roque I ask you not to raise your voice,” Iounn said with the conviction of a mother in her voice. Roque flushed with shame and anger glaring at Roland. “You said we could settle this here, I do not see why Roland cannot be named regent.”

“I am the Regent here,” Roque said waspishly. “It is the best title I can ever hope for.”

“It is only a title,” Roland argued.

“You only say that because you had always been granted a grand title,” Roque said bitterly. “After all, if it only a title why do you want it so badly?”

Roland looked away; obviously he had no answer to this sally.

“A title is a great thing,” Iounn said calmly. “It gives a man standing and power in the land. People respect him, and he is expected to guide and rule the people well. There are responsibilities and consequences of holding such power. Lord Roque, if you are not willing to take on the duties of Prince Regent why should you have it?”

“Does he want the duties?” Roque asked pointing at Roland. “He’s a miserable drunk and a lout. What right does he have to the title?”

“I have the right to more than that, yet you and your brother stole it from me!” Roland shouted.

“Lord Roland I ask you as well do not raise your voice,” Iounn said and Roland looked at her surprised. “You wish to be Prince Regent so act the part. Now Lord Roque asked you, do you want the duties of Prince Regent or like him do you only want the title?”

Roland looked at her wide eyed as if it were the first time anyone had ever asked him what he wanted. His eyes drifted away as he contemplated what she asked of him. Maybe for the first time in his life he was given a choice if he wanted the weight of the title that had been his since birth. Iounn couldn’t sympathize, she had been a blacksmith’s daughter, she was not of noble stock.

When he looked back up at her Iounn noted a new light in his eyes. He was determined and composed just as a king should be.

“Yes, Lady Iounn I want the duties of Prince Regent,” Roland said determined.

“There you have it Lord Roque,” Iounn said proudly.

“I will not stand for this,” Roque said angrily.

“Lord Roque, what do you want?” Iounn asked. “You want to hunt in peace, have as many women as you want, and live with little cares or duties.”

“I want respect,” Roque growled. “If I give up my title none of you will respect me anymore.”

“We don’t respect you now,” Roland said, and Roque glared at him.

“Never the less if I give up my power will anyone really respect me anymore?” Roque asked. “All my attendants will abandon me.”

Iounn wanted to point out that the respect he gained from such people wasn’t real if the moment he lost power they abandoned him. Roque didn’t care about real respect he only cared about adoration. He was right too; his followers would jump ship the moment he lost power.

“What if you were granted another title instead?” Iounn asked Roque.

“Prince Regent is the greatest title I’ve ever had, if I give it up for a lesser title it would bring me only shame,” Roque answered.

“Then what of you Lord Roland?” Iounn asked. “Will no other title suffice?”

“Not if I am to do the duties,” Roland answered. “I need the weight of the title behind me. That means as Regent not just one of the princes, or my brothers would have the same power as me.”

“We wouldn’t take it from you,” Soren argued.

“No but only one of us must have power over the rest otherwise it will cause confusion in court when we come to arguments over issues,” Roland answered. “My age over all of you means nothing since we are brothers, I know none of you will listen even if I had the title of king. But the rest of the lords will, and the knowledge of my title would keep you in line. You would fear demeaning me by showing disrespect at least.”

“He is right,” Sten said. “Roland needs the title.”

And so, they were faced with the problem two men wanting the same title they both could not have. Iounn felt Hors shift in her hair to lean up and whisper in her ear.

“Interim,” Hors whispered and Iounn smiled.

“Milords I think I have a solution,” Iounn said smiling. “Roque, how would you like to leave court?”

“Leave?” Roque asked puzzled and suspicious.

“There is very good hunting to the south in the Holt Forest,” Iounn answered. “If you leave soon you can beat the snows through most of the passes. While you are gone you can name Roland the Prince Regent Interim. He would have all the power of the title but only while you are away.”

“I own a hunting lodge in the Holt Forest,” Sten added. “A palace much nicer than the drafty castle here.”

Roque sat drumming his fingers on the table seeming to think it over. A tense silence stretched as he considered it.

“If I leave, I risk losing my title,” Roque said at last. “What is to prevent you from simply locking the door behind me?”

“This,” Sten said tapping the treaty. “I would not want you to return with an army from your brother after all. I assure you that you will find the hunting lodge to be to your liking, as well as the village nearby.”

“Plenty of frisky milkmaids as I recall,” Roland said grinning.

“Very well,” Roque said trying to seem uninterested in the prospect of women. “I will take my men with me.”

“What of Modi?” Iounn asked and Roque looked surprised. He obviously hadn’t even thought of his son.

“May he stay here?” Roque asked looking to Sten.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sten said. “We must have a celebration to send you off with.”

“Tempest’s Day is only a few days away,” Iounn said eagerly. “We must hold it then. What better day, than a god’s day to celebrate.”

“Very well,” Roque said nodding. “I trust you will see to the details milady?”

“With help,” Iounn said wearily. She heard Hors huff in exasperation; he wanted to go to the docks to search for news. Yet his wish was not granted for Iounn’s time was soon consumed again by preparations for the celebration. Tempest was the favorite god of Nyrgard, so his day was the most celebrated of the god’s days. Labor was forbidden on his day and a feast was held in Hòlmsted.

The day of the celebration arrived and Iounn was busy from the break of dawn. The servants all now deferred to her, going to her before Ekkehard. There was the feast to prepare and great casks of mead, beer, and ale to roll out of cellars and set up in the great hall. Decorations of evergreen garland and streamers had to be hung and everything had to be cleaned. By midday everything was ready, and the mood was high.

Other lords from over Nyrgard arrived; the five great Dukes and many Counts and Barons arrived dressed in rich furs and jewels. Iounn had hosted Tempest’s Day before in Stóstund but never on such a scale. She had also never hosted for nobles before, Stóstund was too isolated to receive other visitors. Often it was she who had been going to other lord’s estates for celebrations.

Iounn was surprised to see a familiar face walk into the great hall and hurried to meet him.

“Duke Genson!” Iounn said pleased and the lord smiled at her. The Lord Genson was a balding man, tall and muscular with a thick gray beard. Fine lines around his eyes and mouth showed he smiled a lot.

“Baroness Iounn, what are you doing here?” Genson asked as he embraced her briefly. “I heard of Goran’s death, I am sorry for your loss.”

“I thank you milord,” Iounn said. “After my husband’s death I wanted to make room for my son’s new wife. I had never seen the Court of Legends and so I came here.”

“You chose a fine time to,” Genson said smiling. “I heard about your son’s match though. I can’t believe you agreed to Count Ferris’ daughter. He’s an oaf.”

“Well her daughter proved to have a good head on her shoulders,” Iounn answered. “She takes after her mother thank Tempest.”

“That’s good to hear,” Genson said as he laughed. “Oh but speak of the devil.”

Iounn turned to see Count Ferris walk into the hall. He was more heavy set than Genson, not fat but wide. He was a plain faced man and Iounn now saw where Ragna got her looks. Ferris noticed them and made his way over, grinning like a toad. A woman much younger than him was tagging along after him, dressed in a gaudy red gown; his mistress Iounn guessed.

“Baroness Iounn,” Ferris said brightly as he took Iounn’s hand and bent over it. “I am glad to see you here milady, is my daughter with you?”

“No milord I left her in the care of my son,” Iounn answered. “They are still getting to know each other, and I thought it best to leave them be. Ragna must get used to her new home without her mother-in-law hovering over her.”

“More like it was too noisy with that harpy that is my wife,” Ferris said rolling his eyes. “I do not blame you for seeking more pleasant surroundings.”

“The Court of Legends is lovely,” Iounn said avoiding a disparaging remark about his poor opinion of his wife. Polite conversation continued and Iounn went around the hall talking to the lords and princes. The feast commenced, and the drinking began songs and tales joining the overall din of the hall.

Iounn joined Sten and the princes at the main table as the feast went on. Iounn saw Roque at one-point drinking heavily among many women, looking to be drowning his sorrows. Iounn realized then that she hadn’t seen Lofn for some time a looked around for her daughter. She saw Colm with Nora, listening to one of the bards tell a tale but Lofn wasn’t with them. She stood and went in search of her, worried that she had gotten in trouble.

“Over there,” Hors said and Iounn turned her head to see Lofn sitting with Modi with the dogs. The excitement meant many scraps for the dogs and many now lay by the fire asleep. Lofn and Modi sat with the hounds petting them.

“Lofn, what are you doing?” Iounn asked a little displeased. “You should not be on the floor with the hounds, you either milord.”

“We were just relaxing,” Modi said frowning up at Iounn.

“No excuses, you are a prince of the house Tyr. You should not be on the floor with the hounds. Come on both of you.”

They both stood and Iounn quickly straitened their clothes. Leading them back to the head table she sat back at the king’s side. Sten looked over as she sat and frowned.

“What is he doing here?” Sten asked crossly and Iounn stopped shocked.

“I’m sorry majesty?” Iounn said confused.

“You heard me, what is that brat doing here?” Sten asked.

“He’s drunk,” Hors warned her and Iounn looked at the king surprised. He was drunk, his cheeks red and eyes unfocused. She hadn’t noticed how much he had drunken, everyone was drinking a lot.

“Majesty I think you’ve had a bit too much mead…”

“I asked you a question, why did you bring that murderer here?” Sten asked lowly. Modi shrank back, nearly hiding under the table.

“He is your grandson majesty,” Iounn said hardly.

“He stole my Frida, my only daughter…” Sten bent over his cup looking broken. Iounn heard conversations petering off and eyes begin to drift to the king.

“Majesty, let’s get you to bed,” Iounn said kindly putting her arm over Sten’s shoulders. He stood up suddenly, knocking Iounn back and slamming his tankard on the table with so much strength he broke it in two. Silence fell like a smothering blanket everyone now looking up at the table.

“Enough of your talk woman!” Sten roared. “I want you to take that monster out of here! He belongs in the trash heap with the dogs!”

Modi was now completely under the table, Lofn crouching next to him. Ekkehard and Soren were hurrying over looking pale, but the rest of the princes were drunk as well. Iounn stood between the king and his grandson, feeling her heart break.

“You are my king,” Iounn said feeling tears rise. “I cannot believe you are a man that would hate his own kin. Frida gave her life to her son, your grandson. You would not dishonor her by turning away her son.”

Sten stood swaying his eyes wild and guilt ridden. He was shaking, his hands trembling and shoulders slumped.

“He took her from me, my little Frida.”

Soren arrived and took his father’s arm guiding him away. Ekkehard arrived as well smiling at Iounn apologetically.

“It seemed my father got into his cups a bit too much,” Ekkehard said with forced humor to the room. “The old battle ax gets like that when he drinks too much. I imagine Tempest is much the same!”

The crowd roared in agreement and the feast continued though with a strained air. Lofn coxed Modi out from under the table and they sat. Iounn blinked until the tears disappeared from her eyes feeling tired.

“He took it the hardest,” Roland said nearby and Iounn looked to him. He was staring at his cup his head bowed. “Frida had always been weak and sickly, Father doted on her. She had many miscarriages before Modi, with each it was like a little bit of her died each time. We had to watch her waste away and there was nothing we could do.”

“It’s not my fault!” Modi said angrily. “It isn’t fair!”

“None of this is fair,” Raban said morosely. He pushed a tankard over to Modi and raised his cup. “Welcome to the club kid.”

Modi took the tankard and took a long pull, but coughed up most of the mead. Ekkehard laughed and patted him on the back. Modi blushed deeply but he was looking up at his uncles with a bit more hope now.

“Mother, will he be alright?” Lofn asked softly and Iounn looked to her daughter a little surprised. She wondered then if Lofn was growing fond of Modi.

“I’m not sure Lofn, but I hope so,” Iounn said.

The rest of the night was uneventful of any drama at least. Iounn saw the children to bed and oversaw the rest of the celebration to avoid any more disasters. The night was long with drinking and feasting, but eventually everyone wore themselves down and went to their beds. Iounn finally retired, exhausted from the long night.

With the God’s day over and Roque finally gone from court Iounn was free to go down to the docks and look for a ship. The port of the city was sheltered under the mountain in a great cave. The only display of mage lights lit the cave; too many lanterns would be dangerous with all the ships in the cave. The smell of tar, salt, urine, and much else filled the cavern, joining the sounds of shouts, swears, and catcalls of the whores. The groaning of timber and the murmur of waves was a constant drone that the ears forgot was even there.

Iounn walked through the crowds of sailors unloading supplies looking around at the overall organized chaos with apprehension. Colm stood next to her looking around with interest and distaste. She was glad he was the only one to accompany her; he didn’t stick out as much as one of the princes. She wished Hors could come, but the docks were too busy to risk accidentally revealing him.

As it turned out news was easy, there were ships and sailors from Dridia and Lir here with plenty of news from the east. The taverns of the docks were all the same, unwashed sailors and equally dirty whores lounging around rickety tables and drinking piss poor ale. Iounn and Colm visited most listening to news of the coasts.

Most of the talk was about storms, the seas getting worse and worse. Iounn was surprised to find the whores more talkative than the sailors, once a coin changed hands. Men talked more to women after bedding them and so the whores seemed to know more than the sailors. Unfortunately, most of what they knew was innocuous, a marriage in a small village, a man hung for theft, or a husband cheating on his wife. Little about the gossip helped Iounn at all.

Finding a ship was harder. Most of the captains coming in were making their winter birth and so weren’t seeking to go anywhere. The best offer Iounn got was a ship going up through the bay to the other shore. The weather was so poor that no one was willing to risk it. Tales were being told of other ships sinking, many weren’t arriving at all which was a bad sign.

Days became weeks and soon the month of Nimal giving way to Noral. Court went on as usual, Sten having given most of his duties now to Roland who like his father seemed to like Iounn’s company. The princes all seemed to go to her for advice and council, cutting into the time she could go down to the docks. Iounn gave what advice she could, always a little surprised in their confidence in her. After Tempest’s Day Euria’s Day often went by unmarked in Nyrgard, the gentle goddess of rain nothing compared to the wrath of Tempest if he were ignored.

Iounn kept returning to the docks when she could, hearing news and looking for ships. Nothing new as news reached her and as time went on the captains became more adamant about leaving port. Storms were getting worse and more and more stories of ship wrecks reached Hòlmsted. Iounn saw one ship make port with a broken mast, barely limping into port. Iounn was losing hope of ever finding something until one of the whores at the docks gave her a recommendation.

“Why not try the Rhodin?” Lola said. Iounn had been going to her for news a lot recently, though she had little to give. “They’ve set up winter camps already outside the city I hear. They’ll know things more than sailors who spend most of their time at sea.”

“Thank you,” Iounn said intrigued. She left the docks with Colm, heading out through one of the tunnels and into the lower city. On foot Iounn found the shanty town even worse than before, the streets muddy with piles of refuse in alleys and corners. The town seemed bigger than before as well, mountaineers, fur trappers, and the nomadic Rhodin all coming in from the mountains to huddle at the bottom of the mountain. Iounn found the Rhodin camp easily at the edge of the town, shocked by the size and number of the wagons. It was almost a village of its own.

No one stopped her from entering, but the moment she did Iounn felt hostile eyes on her. She spoke to the Rhodin she passed, but all only shook their heads or answered with a few grunts. None were willing to even speak to her. She was about to give up when she spotted an indigo wagon painted with stars. It reminded her strongly of the sky of Tir Aesclinn, so she went up and knocked on the door.

“Come,” a muffled woman’s voice answered. Iounn opened the door, leaving Colm as guard outside. Inside it was dim, lit by only a few shuttered lamps. Silk and gossamer drapes hung all over the wagon, giving an air of mystery to the place. It smelled of honey and myrtle, with a hint of cinnamon and was wonderfully warm inside. The curtains shifted, and a woman stepped out.

She was Rhodin, her skin as dark as leather and hair a mane of black waves. She was shapely, moving with a lithe grace like a cat. She wore fine silk robes over a dress, looking a bit like something an Aldan would wear. Iounn realized then that the woman’s ears were pointed, telling of Aldan blood in her. She looked at Iounn with slit indigo eyes with as much mystery as Hors’ eyes.

“Ah, here to get your fortune read,” the woman said with a smile and bow. “No doubt you heard of my prowess my lady, my name is Kree.”

“Baroness Iounn of Stóstund,” she answered automatically. Something about the woman startled her, she felt an immediate fascination with her which she had not expected. “I am actually looking for news…”

“Sit and I will read you palm,” Kree said. “Then I will tell you what I foresee.”

Iounn sat, shoving doubt away. Many said the Rhodin were charlatans and thieves, but Iounn kept a dragon so who was she to say they could not predict the future? She sat at the small table and gave Kree her left hand. She felt her skin prickle with excitement as Kree took her hand and began tracing the lines on her palm. It was more than excitement though; Iounn felt warmth spread through her, almost as if in arousal.

“You are a noble soul though one not born to it,” Kree said, her fingers were long and her nails painted. “You have lost your husband, but found something that you had not expected…”

She trailed off frowning before she looked up at Iounn and their eyes locked. Iounn felt the power of her gaze, Kree looking through her. Yet Iounn met her eyes looking into her in turn, but only seeing Kree’s entire attention bent on Iounn. It was intimate and it startled Iounn who had never felt so exposed even in bed with Goran. She pulled her hand free and stood, hurrying from the wagon without a word.

“Ye alright?” Colm asked as he hurried after her. “Ye be flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Iounn said though she could not answer him. She was confused and refused to admit she had felt anything when Kree had looked into her. She did not mention the encounter to Hors and did not return to the Rhodin camp. She returned to seeking news at the docks, but she had given up on finding a ship so late in the season.

One day Iounn noticed a small merchant vessel had arrived. The vessel was unremarkable as was the crew, but Iounn hadn’t seen it before so it was new which meant fresh news. She hurried over to the vessel, Colm hot on her heels. Iounn arrived at the vessel just in time to see another person disembark from the ship. Iounn was surprised to see a mage disembark the merchant vessel.

Iounn had never seen a mage before, but she had heard enough about them to know one when she saw one. The woman wore ragged robes bleached by the sea water, and Iounn guessed her to be a ship wreck victim. The merchant vessel certainly wasn’t one likely to be carrying a mage, small and only manned by four men it would never have been able to make the trip from Dridia.

As she stepped out onto the wharf Iounn saw her face. The woman was a pretty young woman, but her face was pinched with sorrow and pale. She wore spectacles which made her red brown eyes seem bigger, her pale blonde hair straight and cut to her shoulders. As Iounn walked up she heard the woman thanking the captain of the ship.

“…saved me,” she was saying. Her accent was unlike anything Iounn had heard. Her vowels were long, and consonants clipped. “There is no way I can repay you.”

“Like I said milady it is good luck to save a ship wreck victim,” the captain said with a kind smile.

“I’m no noble sir,” the mage woman said shaking her head. “Just a simple mage.”

“Nothing simple about that,” the captain said. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you? Surely some coin at least…”

“No, I will do what I can on my own,” the mage answered. “I thank you for the offer.”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Iounn said stepping forward. Both turned to her surprised to have someone listening in. “My name is Iounn, Baroness of Stóstund.”

“Milady,” the mage said seeming flustered as she bowed. “My name is Zaire Weaver.”

“Welcome Miss Weaver to Hòlmsted,” Iounn said. “I couldn’t help but overhear you are the victim of a ship wreck. I would like to hear your tale. In return I will host you in the king’s court for as long as you need.”

Zaire looked shocked at such an offer, her cheeks reddening with a blush.

“Milady I couldn’t possibly…”

“I insist,” Iounn said. “We must seek to aid those whose luck has struck them down.”

The woman looked at her with such pain then that Iounn felt her heart nearly break for her. What had she suffered to look so forlorn?

“Then I will graciously accept your hospitality,” Zaire said with a bow.

“Come then,” Iounn said and led the way back from the docks. Zaire followed in step with her, seeming stunned by this turn of events.

“It seems you found another castaway milady,” Colm said as he walked behind them.

“So, it seems,” Iounn said smiling at Zaire reassuringly. Zaire didn’t smile back, but she did nod which Iounn took as a good sign. They walked back through the docks and crowds, Zaire looking around with wide eyes. The way back to the city above was a lift, a great contraption engineered by mages some fifty years ago. Before the lift stairs were the only way up to the keep.

Iounn showed her ring to the keeper of the lift and he waved her through. The lift was large enough to let about twenty people on board. Iounn, Zaire, and Colm weren’t the only passengers and soon they were joined by other servants or pages with packages to deliver. Once the lift was full it ascended, Iounn’s stomach lurching. She looked to Zaire who was staring at the lift’s mechanisms, which could be operated by any layman. She wondered what the mage could make of the contraption.

The lift stopped, and they were let out into the tunnels under the main city. There were a lot of tunnels burrowed into the heart of the mountain, used as roadways between houses and establishments. There were many staircases out of the underground and they quickly left the tunnels, there tended to be vagrants and thieves hiding in the tunnels under Hòlmsted.

Zaire stared openly at the city as they walked through the streets, seeming amazed at everything they passed. Iounn wondered at her amazement, she was a mage after all and Iounn would have thought she would have seen much more impressive things in Dridia. Maybe she wasn’t from a city. Iounn knew little of Dridians and their culture.

They arrived at the keep and the guards there let Iounn pass with little regard for her new companion. They went on through the keep, Iounn leading them through smaller halls to avoid the king’s hall. Zaire had been through enough for the day and Iounn was sure it would be too much for her to deal with the Court of Legends.

Back at her rooms Iounn found Lofn and Nora were gone, probably to play in the gardens with Modi. Hors however lay on the bed asleep in a beam of sunshine curled up like a cat. He woke and scurried away under the bed in a flash.

“What was that?” Zaire asked as she came in after Iounn.

“I have a cat,” Iounn answered. “He’s a bit shy. Colm go and see to getting a bath drawn for Zaire and finding some new clothes. See that luncheon is served in my room.”

“Yes milady,” Colm answered with a bow before he left. Iounn motioned Zaire to the table to sit and turned to setting a fire in the grate. Though the autumn sun was warm the castle was cold, the stone walls eating heat like the night ate the sun. Once the fire was crackling Iounn sat across the table from Zaire looking at the mage in the eyes.

“So, tell me about the ship wreck,” Iounn said. Zaire looked away and though Iounn was sure the subject was hard for her she also sensed what was to come was not going to be the full truth.

“I set out from Myr with my lover,” Zaire said. “He was a freed slave and the rumors were getting rather fierce, so we left. I have no family left and he was a bastard, so we were leaving nothing behind us. I don’t remember the name of the ship we traveled on, we sailed for weeks through several storms until one finally got the better of our ship. My lover went down with the ship.”

The last sentence was spoken so quietly Iounn barely heard her. Iounn reached out and took her hand that lay on the table.

“I’m sorry, I just lost my husband not too long ago,” Iounn said though she knew it was not the same. Her husband had been old and ill, it was almost a relief to know his pain had ended. He hadn’t been torn from her. “What was his name?”

“Xavier,” Zaire answered, and she broke down crying. Iounn stood and went to hold her as she wept out her sorrow. Colm knocked softly, obviously hearing Zaire’s weeping.

“The bath is ready milady as are some clothes,” Colm said apprehensively.

“You should go wash,” Iounn said kindly and Zaire looked up at her. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean and in some warm clothes.”

Zaire nodded dumbly and went to follow Colm out. Once she was gone Hors crawled out from under the bed, shaking the dust from his fur. He jumped up onto the bed and began grooming himself just like a cat.

“What do you think of her?” Iounn asked.

“I think you picked up another castaway,” Hors answered. “Did you use to bring home wild animals as pets?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Iounn answered thinking back to a badger she had brought home and tried to raise before her mother had made her return it to the woods. “Does it matter?”

“No, I just think we should be careful with her,” Hors answered stopping his grooming to look her in the eye. “She was lying.”

“Yes, but for what reason?” Iounn asked. “She could be lying for good reasons.”

“Or for bad ones,” Hors answered. “Until we know her full story I don’t want to trust her with the truth of my existence and of the Phay planning to march. Find out news from her and keep her around until we learn the truth.”

“How will we learn the truth?” Iounn asked.

“Be yourself,” Hors answered with his strange dragon grin. “Be kind to her and she will eventually trust you.”

“Very well,” Iounn said as she nodded but she wasn’t so sure it would be that simple. “Hors, I think it is too late in the season to sail from here. The storms are getting worse and the sailors are too reluctant to leave a safe port now.”

“I know,” Hors said frustrated. “We waited too long. The storms are because of the song but I still cannot tell when my kin will march.”

“We will keep looking for news,” Iounn said. “But I think we will have to winter here, the passes are nearly closed already.”

“I know,” was all Hors would say before he returned to his grooming.

Zaire returned to the room and this time Hors hurried to hide in Iounn’s hair. Zaire was dressed in a Nyrgardic dress with fur boots. The clothes were too long as she didn’t have a Nygarder’s height, but she filled out the dress in girth. Colm came in behind her carrying a tray of food. They sat as Colm served them a rich beef stew and hardy bread. Zaire ate delicately and only finished half her food before she stopped. Iounn decided not to lecture her, after all Zaire was an adult as well.

“So, tell me is there any news from Myr?” Iounn asked when they had finished.

“What kind of news?” Zaire asked.

“Anything unusual,” Iounn answered. “I’ve heard of the storms of course, I’m more interested in the likes of that rather than things like the wedding of the royals.”

Zaire looked almost scared, her eyes flickering away. She knew something but was reluctant to say anything. One thing was obvious; this woman was not a very good liar.

“Well, there is one thing,” she said at last looking at Iounn hesitantly.

“Anything is fine,” Iounn said, trying to project trust.

“I am an astronomer,” Zaire said. “The High Magic is dependent on the movement of the stars, so mages often make a study of the stars. I’ve noticed of late the stars have been moving strangely.”

“How so?” Iounn asked, feeling Hors dig his claws into her shoulder to show his interest.

“Well there have been two occurrences,” Zaire said her tone much like a teacher’s. “One is the Fallen Stars, which isn’t as it seems. Some minor or dim stars seem to have disappeared from the sky but the entire Sacred River has shifted slightly.

“Another occurrence is the Rise of the Hunter. More of the constellation known as the Golden Bow has been revealed for the first time in millennia. Xavier…” She broke off for a moment her eyes flickering with pain. “Xavier noticed that the bow could be drawn. Dione, one of the wandering stars, will fit into the curve of the bow as the arrow.”

“When will this happen?” Iounn asked feeling Hors interest in this by his tail lashing against her back.

“I don’t know,” Zaire answered. “I could calculate it but without my instruments and charts…”

“I will get you what you need,” Iounn said. “And I am sure the king has star charts in his library. We are a sea faring race after all and the stars guide us at sea.”

“Lady Iounn I could never ask you for such a thing,” Zaire said her eyes wide behind her spectacles.

“I ask it of you,” Iounn said reassuringly. “I don’t mind being your patron.”

“Thank you, milady,” Zaire said amazed. “Why do you wish to know about the stars?”

“My reasons are my own,” Iounn said coolly and Zaire flinched a little. “Get some rest,” Iounn said her tone softening. “We will see to this matter tomorrow.”

“Yes milady,” Zaire said bowing her head. Iounn stood and left the room to seek out her daughter. She found her out in the garden again, running about with Modi and Nora. The three seemed to be playing tag, running and laughing. Modi, his cheeks flushed, ran from Nora with a big smile on his face; it seemed he got over his dislike for the Daunish. Iounn stood watching the children play feeling lighter for it.

“So, do you think the stars will tell us what we need to know?” Iounn asked quietly.

“Maybe, it depends on what they reveal,” Hors answered. “I certainly hope so.”

“You really have no idea how long it will be?” Iounn asked.

“Time moves very strangely between worlds,” Hors answered. “It is not so soon to be a few days from now, nor is it so long away that it will be years or decades. It is somewhere between.”

Which could mean it could be months away or maybe even a year.

“And when you learn when?” Iounn asked.

“Well we still need to find the song and Eileen,” Hors answered. “We should start looking for one or both.”

“How?” Iounn asked. “Will there be news of either?”

“Maybe, but I was thinking of checking the library you mentioned,” Hors answered. “The old tales may have some recourse we can look into.”

Iounn nodded and continued to watch her daughter play with the prince and Nora. Watching them she wondered what world they would grow up into. Time would tell all it seemed.

#Faires #dragons #fantasy #series #writing #please read

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